


A Symphony of Static

by Gay_as_fuck



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Missing Scene, One Shot, non-canon characters to flush out the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gay_as_fuck/pseuds/Gay_as_fuck
Summary: It is impossible to erase everything about a person from the world. There are always rooms in houses, gaps in memory, and people waiting for meetings that are never going to happen.(formerly titled "A Symphony of Sorrow")





	A Symphony of Static

**Author's Note:**

> This was done really quick but I like it. Thinking about the things people left behind on earth when they joined the bureau is really interesting and I wish they had expanded on it more. Just these huge gaps in memory, a huge war happened and then no one remembers. Interesting and really cool.

I.

There’s a dwarf woman who lives alone by the sea. She has two sweet children, a good and quiet girl then a younger rowdy boy. 

Mookie is trouble. The whole village knows that. Mavis is usually keeping him in line, but that’s too much for a little girl. The villagers shake their heads and click their tongues when talking of Hekuba’s family. 

They are good children, but they’d be better with a father to guide them. 

She had married- someone. That’s all people can remember. He was scum, but no one can remember why, so they spread and rely on rumors. He was angry, or he just didn’t care enough. He left her, or she forced him out. No one says his name. 

Hekuba had even taken his last name, and given that name to their children. Highwind? Talltemple? Greattower? It does not matter.

They go by her maiden name, Stoudstern. A family of sailors who took to the beach only when the last of their ships broke against the tide. That had been generations ago, a whole history of proud people of the sea who had just given into time. 

Most people can’t remember anything about the Stoutsterns. They haven’t done anything worthwhile in a century. 

The sole librarian of the village shakes his wrinkled head. If that Stoutstern boy doesn’t shape up, they’ll become just like the Highchurches. Another proud family with no son to bear their name.

II.

One day every summer, the people of Glamoursprings all wear black. A time-honored tradition, for the years since-

Since the most important event in the history of Glamoursprings. An event which is surprisingly poorly remembered. Here are the facts, as the people of the town can figure them out.

Around 8 pm “The Killer” rides into town. They have a man named Sazed in their employ. The pair travels in a showman’s wagon. The children are excited, there is to be a show tomorrow. A show with cooking magic. 

The name of the said show, along with the person who ran it, is up for debate. Someone claims it was a five-word name, others say there was alliteration, maybe a food pun? No one is sure. 

The next morning, about 7 Am Sazed and “The Killer” go about town getting people to show up. The show will be at eleven. They say to bring your wife, your kids, the whole family too. 

At 11 Am a fairly large crowd gathers around the truck. It is a fine summer day, children are laughing and stomachs are growling. “The Killer,” says that the meal will be 30 Garlic Clove Chicken. 

12 Am the show is over. 

The name and face of “The Killer” go unremembered and cloud up that day's history. There are only two simple facts that are not muddled up by memory.

1 - The food was delicious

2 - people started dying

In all the chaos of that day, “The Killer” and Sazed left never to be seen or heard from again. A collective blank in everyone’s minds is only returned to one day a year. 

The day of the event, everyone wears black and eats chicken. They weep over their lost loved ones, and boil with rage at someone they can’t remember.

“The killer is a lucky bastard”, the town’s people say, “If I knew where they were I’d go find them. Put a knife through that back.” 

III.

There is a semi-famous artist. No one knows who they are, cause the artist is edgy like that. For some “Artsy” reason their album cover is that of a violin surrounded by dull colors. 

You could, at first, find the album in the classical section. Stuffed somewhere in the middle. An inconspicuous spot somewhere near “K”. The record has fourteen songs, all without titles, something the album also lacks. The only clear words on it, are the brand of a producer. 

“Humanistics” produce mostly classical music, with a bit of slam poetry mixed in there. They’d never produce anything like this.

The weirdest thing about the album is that all fourteen songs sound the same. The same tone and buzz of static. 

The album gets filled away with cryptic and artsy bullshit. There are conspiracies, about how it got produced. Some people claim it must have been a great story, about huge lies and a perfectly pulled off plan. An epic prank that made history. 

For that, the album has earned a name. They can’t just very well call it The Album can they? Or the songwriter The Artist.

They call it “The Greatest Violin Album of All Time: Performed by Basically The Greatest Violin Player of All Time.” 

There is an old woman who owns the special edition of that record, which adorned the wall of an untouched room. She can’t look at it but finds comfort for the hole in her heart her son left with The Album’s fans. 

He must have loved music. She hopes to find him in it. 

IIII.

An older man, who runs a bookshop in Neverwinter, has a fine rocking chair. He’s always considered it his finest piece of furniture. It sits by the fire in his home, an apartment just above the shop. 

He bought it from someone at a crafting festival years ago. The intent of buying it had been a gift, but the woman it had been meant for dumped him before he could even show her. 

Not so secretly, he was glad it ended up in his possession. 

He couldn’t quite remember who had sold it, so he didn’t dwell on the memory much. He hated to think that his mind might not be as sharp as it once was. 

The chair is black oak, that somehow held the smell of lavender. Perhaps, if he found the person who sold it, he might learn how they had done that. It was almost magic, aromatic and sweet, the scent reminded him of love lost. 

IIIII.

He knows he should have a grandson. His daughter married and gave birth. He can remember a little blue cap. But there is no son in his memories. He knows someone should be coming to visit. To say goodbye one final time. They are bringing his tea set. If they get to him before the end, he can have tea one last time. 

For some reason, he expects a stimulating conversation.


End file.
